


Odogowan Historian's Journals

by Experiment413



Series: Mianite: Awakening Lore [18]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Fanmade Mianite S3, Gen, Historical, Mianite: Awakening, POV First Person, Realm of Mianite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experiment413/pseuds/Experiment413
Summary: Cardinal becomes the Odogowan Historian.





	1. Scar

[Pages are viciously torn, stained red and orange with clay here and there…]

 

Casting the traitor to the Nether, Dianite’s rage burned through the sand and soil, sending the forest into flames and scarring the landscape into desolation. The enemy fled their city, the smoke on rise and visible for miles. The only ones who found the scar hospitable were the three Dianitee acolytes of the city Veracrates, and on top of Dianite’s victory, they constructed their own city of clay and mud. As the years passed, the climate of the nearby desert assisted the scar in carving through the mountainous forest, forming the impressive mesa world of modern Odogow.

 

\--

\--

 

I’d really like to drown myself in sand at this rate. I’m currently every nightmare my closest friends have ever had and this is not what I may have wanted to become. Perhaps Callisto would’ve dragged me away from a fate like this, but I digress.

 

The purpose of me writing here and now is that I did not want to become a historian. In fact, I am the worst historian to live in the entire history of the galaxy. I follow a god, I am reckless, and I am an active, well, activist. Historians are supposed to sit back and watch and here I am, with now a title among the people I’m with and soon the realm. This is awful.

 

They say there needs to be a historian for every realm, someone to write these things down. I write a lot of history already, but I hate this. I have dreaded becoming who I am the day this began. I love helping these people, I really do, but whoa. I am not near powerful enough to be one.

 

I’m just a girl, really. I can’t do much special other than shoot a bow pretty well, make really pretty things out of flowers, and write a mean paragraph or two. I’m just here to continue and recover the stories of a disappearing civilization. As I travel deeper into the mesa, I start to worry more. I don’t want this title.

 

World Historian destroyed our home though, my home. I don’t want to be near him in any way, even in title. 

 


	2. Avenge

Avenging his fallen partners, Kayode took the very last of his energy to swing his sword and kill his foe. The third and final acolyte stood in the middle of the battlefield, wiped his face, smearing the orange clay down his face.

He sat next to the other two acolytes’ fallen bodies, smeared with their respective clay colors and the red of blood.

He huffed, laying his head down on Desta’s side. She seemed to lurch in the slightest, though fell still again, and Kayode fell into an infinite sleep, never dead, but never alive.

 

\--

\--

 

So it begins. This revolution.

I never thought I’d make it this far.

 

Perhaps title comes with good things. I hate being a historian. I hate it. I’m a scourge upon the worlds, a smear of red clay and spilled brown ink on the mesa. They say I talk like Desta did, before she died. The Odogowans said I’m just what they needed, some believe I’m Desta’s reincarnation. I don’t feel like her. I’m not an acolyte.

 

We’re ready to fight, though weak. This is as strong as we can get. We have no power in numbers, no power in strength. We have power in resilience. It’s difficult to get rid of us, not when we’re sewer rats in the Golden Realm’s eyes.

 

I doubt I’m Desta. I know I’m not Desta. I just talk like her.

But for now, I’ll be their Desta.

For now, I’ll be their historian.


	3. Pitch

Themba had stopped, and ever-oblivious Kayode had kept walking. Desta kept talking, but stopped and narrowed her eyes as her senses deemed something was horribly wrong.

Desta picked up and slung a pebble at Kayode to make him stop walking.

“Ow. Hey, what’s the problem--”

Desta gestured to Themba, their eyes cast downward to the floor. Desta approached slowly, cautiously, hand reached out to her partner.

Themba glanced up. Kayode’s eyes went wide. Desta froze. Their eyes were pitch black, and they seemed to survey the area before Themba began to shake their head, black spark-like things coming out of their hair as they did. When they looked up again, their eyes were brown again.

“Dianite, what just happened?” they asked.

 

\--

\--

 

We’re rounding up the braver lot for a rebellion. We’re trying to take down the Golden Realm that’s lurking in Odogow’s structures and are erasing their history. I’ve had to salvage so many books, we are not risking another library or ten. Word of mouth is hell to transcribe right now.

 

I am getting tired. This is exhausting work. Having to talk, having to walk, having to read, having to listen, having to do. My schedule’s become a non-existent pile of whatever happens happens. This will be fulfilling, I just have to put in the work.

 

I’ve never begun a revolution myself, so I’m in for one hell of a ride I guess. 


	4. Lost Again

Even as the navigator, Themba would constantly cause the party of acolytes to wander off course, deeper into the scar, which only opened their eyes to the damage the three had not yet seen. No matter how many times they passed the same spot, something new always drew their attention, from the final pieces of burning netherrack to

 

[... The page is just torn from here on out.]

 

\--

 

Trips in and out of the canyons are becoming ever so drab for me. My party’s starting to realize how reclusive I’ve been getting during our trips. I understand it’s all about getting out and away from the tent, but don’t I do that enough in Odogow itself? I’m almost always outside, and being distant from civilization lately has been driving me to depressive states, even if I am fond of wandering.

 

It really is strange, Tanager isn’t sure how to feel about it either, though I understand she’s more used to air conditioned indoors and not constantly risking herself to heat stroke. Seriously, she has three canteens on her almost every minute. I’m not sure who’s doing worse though, me or Tanager.

 

What are we going to tell Grosbeak? He’s lived out here almost his entire life, he loves it. It would crush him to have me or Tanager that we’re getting tired of coming out here. He’s an unpredictable source, only his brother Ultramarine really knows much of him.

 

As for the others, they’re a mixed lot. Most of them are suburban Odogowans who are used to the outdoors but certainly not expeditions and wanderings. I guess it is the point of this, though, this getting used to it all. Spiza and Chat are already exhausted, Saltator and Finch are getting more bored than me. At least Carrizal seems to be liking it, though she always muses how she rather go back home to the river. Hepatic, Summer, and Scarlet don’t enjoy when we hang around in one place for a long time, so they’re in and out. 

 

And I should enjoy this. I am a wanderer, after all, I’ve done this since I was little.

I suppose it’s just the repetition of surrounding. I like Odogow and the mesa and the canyon, but it’s becoming not much of anything to me.

I’ve never had this happen to me. What’s wrong with my head?


	5. Pulling at the Boundary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chimalus for some assistance on this!

Themba lost their mind briefly. A head revolved in the shade of the acacia trees, unmoving as pale leaves fell dead into their hair, as Desta clung to the branches and peeled gray wood shavings off to reveal orange beneath. Unsettled and unnerved, the acolytes of Dianite moved independently of each other across the mesa.

 

Kayode one day buried his head in the poor soil, eyes and nose barely peeking out from inbetween sand and dirt, bandanna pulled across his forehead. That same day Desta fell from the acacia branches and Themba woke up to red clay spattered across orange sand and thin grass blades that sliced like swords.

 

\--

 

[Pages are torn out and stained red with clay until this point.]

 

A final resting place of pure and imperfect serenity, of stories now untold unless a man were to live it. Smashed citrine, carnelian, and turquoise, to mix with blood-like streams of orange, red, and cyan. An individual but hivemind scene plastered across its walls, the descendants of Odogow found their stories, their origin, built into the foundations of the very temple they created by their own skilled hands.

 

The very tombs of the acolytes Desta and Themba were covered, engraved, burned and blasted by furnaces into a strong terracotta, glazed and mixed into shades of ruby and gray-blues, inlaid with the most common of gemstones to note their purity, their rarity in their own way, a special kind of prowess. And Kayode likewise, asleep and catatonic. Until he comes back in whatever form he takes, in death or in life or in reincarnation, he will remain.

 

Thus is the story of Odogow, the acolytes’ temple, the city of Dianite.

 

\--

 

Ianite’s returned. We’re seeing revolutions pop up and burst in various locations. There’s excitement, even we’re ecstatic. With the vicious Golden Realm bearing down on what remains of its enemies though, we are ready to combat.

 

\--

 

I’ve embraced my appearance of a wild kid with violent tendencies and a mind of her own. No person can control me and that is how I’d like it to be. People only see the violence in Dianitees and now I say why not, we can’t be this angry for this long without some sort of snap. Even if we are helping the Ianitees, it’d be better than what we have now.

 

Not that I haven't come to respect the Lady or anything, I definitely have, and her influence is prominent enough with us. While I’d never fully shift to her side, I would ally with her. And she has a point when she says it’s better to ally with everyone.

While peace can outweigh that chaos even if she has no plate of her own, I can see why it’s so craved. It’s a time to settle down, and after what I’ve seen I say it’s fair.

Peace is always shortlived, at least, in the ways we’ve seen it. Why do we have to go through the middleman and not just straight to our opposition’s necks? There’s always an innocent civilian getting shot by the crossfire. That’s where I see Ianite. She doesn’t want to toil in this, but she’s dragged along into war anyway.

 

And despite not being a fighter, she’s riddled with bullets.

 

\--

 

We’re moving steadily out of the mesa and up north. The Golden Realm’s caught wind of us. We suffered a few injuries, but it was only due to harsh terrain.

We have enough supplies for another few months.

 

Ianite helped us see an incoming attack. We’re less military than the Mianitees are, so these ambushes can wipe us out by the hundreds if we don’t catch them. Luckily Ianite knows her brothers well.

 

It’s nice to have a guide around here.

 

\--

 

We’re clashing with the Golden Realm soon, and I feel we have the power now to take them down. I don’t care how untrained we are or how barbaric we seem, all we care about is winning this battle that encompasses the realm. This is a battle we are all fighting, from the people not involved to the people who are with us.

 

Ianite is upset. I can see the pain in her face. I think she was crying.

She was definitely crying.

For once, she doesn’t want to talk about it. All she told me was that she was afraid.

She’s been an amazing help to me, and I hope she feels better soon. Until then, I need to comfort her.

 

\--

 

[This page has a few drops of blood soaked into the parchment. There are also pressed flowers and twigs.]

 

\--

 

[The remains of a photo. This one’s a copy. Young Alyssa, Alva, and Andor, being cheery, and just being kids, it seems. There’s photocopied writing to its corner. “Get well soon!”]

 

\--

 

We won.

 

We took to the battleground, leveled Mianitee forces. Casualties were high, but it was worth it to discover what I did. 

Near the end of it all, when most of us were being to feel exhaustion kick in but we were beginning to gain ground, Mianite’s airship arrived. It’s a horrible display of power if you were one to ever witness it, a true mark of a god gone mad. No thing could be as gaudy as it is.

 

From this safe perch, Mianite shot us down from above. The lightning would catch many of us, killing some and horribly injuring others. I hate to see the scars, not after Sky was struck by a bolt himself. It set the landscape ablaze. Grasses were on fire, the Realm’s armor made them near fireproof, and we were being torched. The fire burned the pain on my allies’ faces into my brain.

 

Anyone in the sky who was near the strike suffered the burns from the heat. Torn to shreds, I forgot that I was yelling. Not screaming, I was yelling, barking mad, running my mouth like how Sky did so many years ago. There was something pushing and invigorating me to do such a thing subconsciously. My flowercrown fell apart into red petals while I was in the air, on an upward draft towards the highest point of the battle. I never thought my demigod abilities would come into existence because I don’t have any blood ties to them, but looks like Dianite was on my side the whole time. I had the quintessence in me the entire time, I just never came to realize I did. I’m no Clear Sky, I didn’t need a god-given burst to show my abilities. Thanks, dad, for hanging in there with me, even since I was little.

 

I landed in Mianite’s airship with my bow drawn, to come face-to-face with the man himself. I could see the face of a god gone mad, a robotic eye dimly lit and glaring, and the second no longer the light gray it once was, but instead turned dark black. He moved unnaturally, with such quick force that I struggled to dodge the few bolts sent streaking towards me as he registered my existence as the little pest in his ship.

 

I yelled, blindly, numbly, blind by rage but empowered by what I knew was the truth.

“But what did you see, oh really, what could it be?”

 

We’d exploded into combat, my smaller figure weaving through whatever he threw at me. The swings of pure white swords and various lightning bolts, heating the hair to such horrible levels, yet I tolerated it all. No burn on my body, the heat hardly bothered me, but I could tell if it were made of netherrack, the room would be ablaze.

  
I fell back to the entrance again, the main ship’s room wrecked with smashed items thrown about by the quarrel and chairs knocked over. I aimed my bow as Mianite turned, and I struck him in the robotic eye, shooting sparks as it went and shattering thin glass-like plastic. The arrow had sunk so deep, in fact, that it’d hit blood, something you’d rarely see from a god, and a small trickle of it had run down his face as Mianite suddenly collapsed to a knee, then lurched forward.

 

Standing in that room was the best and worst moment in my life.

I saw ink-like blackness rise out of Mianite, form itself vaguely together above the two of us. The faint glitter of distant stars shown slightly in the smoke, but it was less a physical being, and more a shadow. White eyes spread across the mass for a second, before vanishing away into the darkness, and the shape took the most ghostly form of Kikoku Botan, the World Historian.

Mianite coughed like a person with flux, and Botan gave this sick, horrible grin. I shot an arrow into the smoke, but it passed right through, and Botan’s form fizzled into the air, like he was never there at all.

 

Mianite, now on all fours, recovering from his ordeal, looked up slowly to me, his robotic eye broken, and the eye once black now returned to its normal gray.

“Alyssa…” he began. I’d never heard Mianite so… soft, for once. “What happened?”

 

And thus ended another chapter in the story.

 

\--

 

[A pressed, red flower. “Rosa kordesii”]

 

\--

 

My name is Alyssa Screziato, I am the Odogowan Historian, the daughter of Dianite.

This was the story of a rising rebellion in the realm of Ezaven, and the history of the Odogowan people.

 

Thank you to people like Prince Andor Helgrind, aka The Clear Sky Hermit and The Crownless Prince. Including Mot Screziato, the Champion of Dianite, aka Hummingbird, and my father.

Other thanks will go understood.

 

This is my story, but it certainly isn’t the end, nor is it the beginning.


End file.
